That Reminds Me... Moggies meandering in mellow light, smoky shadows in the 'caff,' and apple tart for Sunday tea, lazing on a sunny afternoon to the sound of The Kinks

I'M chuffed to say that I've received more fabulous correspondence from readers who really do understand the concept of TRM, and who go out of their way to share special moments and memories with us.

This week we've got a fantastic letter that conjures up so many memories from the Sixties.

"Dear Jeff…As an ex-Milford boy, but now living far away, I often look back at former days, especially when some incident, or news item jogs my memory.

“It was just such an occasion as I travelled back to my present home, I began thinking, and felt compelled to put the thoughts on paper. Well, over a few weeks it got added to, and hence the reminiscence written below, of a Sunday in 60s Milford.

“Perhaps it is a bit long, but I have also put it in a box for my son and daughter, when, to paraphrase Will Shakespeare: ‘I shuffle off this mortal toil’.

“I leave it to your editorship, and good sense, as to whether it can be used for TRM, which I thoroughly enjoy. Apologies, I am no Dylan Thomas or Bill Bryson, just a B form Grammar School lad.”

A 60s Milford lazy Sunday afternoon

“Was it ever so…or does old age play tricks as you re-walk, in your mind, the path of younger days?

“The Milford Sunday of my memory, shines clear, azure and warm. Accompanied by the last straggle of afternoon swimmers, a rolled towel under arm, tousled hair and damply dressed, I emerge from the Pool's shadowy entrance, squinting at the sun's fading glare.

“The paddling pool, empty to my left, gently rippled in its St Tropez blue; and down the inclined path, trip bright eyed, or trudge wearily, the dog walkers, as if mimicking their pet's joy or discomfort. Near its top, I catch the late afternoon's gentle breeze, and glimpse the sparkling Haven, nestling a silhouetted trawler.

“Up to Charles Street, quiet in these days of memory; no Sunday shopping, and fewer cars, too. Just the odd 'moggy' stretching, and lazily meandering in the hazy mellow sunlight. Was this street aligned by 'Charles the Druid' to catch the setting of the summer sun?

“Past the Tabernacle and the sound of the undulating …'for those in peril on the sea’. To the right, 'Brylcreemed' Russ Conway and Mario Lanza, endlessly smile from Backhouse's record shop window. Onwards, the shops, shadowed, uninviting, save for Foster Powell's window of toys, worthy even of this ageing schoolboy's second look.

“It seems only Secadeli's 'Caf' shows some form of life. The smoky shadows empty, save for an 'unsuspecting visitor', and a few ageing 'Teddy Boys' who sprawl, open legged, at their usual corner table. Their flick of heavily ash-laden 'cigs,' tuts, and raised eyeballs, signifying disdain, as the jukebox clicks, shuffles and drops Cilla's invitingly and paradoxically 'Step inside love' onto the turntable.

“But it's not what they call Rock and Roll.

“'Woollies' plate glass reflects your solitude, except for a scavenging seagull, hopping out of the way, as if too lazy to fully spread its raised wings.

“And so, urged on by distant James Brothers red-framed clock, you turn the corner towards home. It's a trek now up the shadowed hill between Jefferies ticking clocks, and Whicher and Jameson's staring store manikins.

“In through the open door…typically Milford…typically trusting, then…the always unlocked front door. Mother, pinny over her 'Chapel best,' calling a friendly ‘halloo,’ proudly placing today’s baking on the whitened cloth. No smell of pipe tobacco and Swarfega wafting towards the open door. No bulging fish bag, or a battered suitcase and hat near the hallstand to mark Dad's return. Only 'Laddie,' yapping and pirouetting round your feet, and Dad's empty chair.

“And was it always apple tart for Sunday tea, with ice cream from Rabaiotti's ice cream factory? You flop into the chair like the return of the exhausted cross channel swimmer of your dreams, and blow a long exhale of breath, and stroke the pouncing, panting dog...Whilst in the background, among the clinking of china, and a whistling kettle, Ray 'Kinks' Davies sings from the Bakelite radio on the Welsh dresser....'Lazing on a sunny afternoon...in the summertime...Lazy Summer Afternoon.'

Cheers David...and from one old B stream Grammar boy to another...that was superb!

Here's a couple of suitable snaps to go with it.

Now for our teasers, here's another brain scratcher from Les Haynes.

Everyone has me. No one can lose me. You see me indoors and out.

What am I?

That's it from TRM for another week and, although I've still got a pile of stuff in my in-tray, if you've got a TRM tale you'd like me to include, please get in touch and I promise I'll get to it, eventually.

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